He stopped for a moment. It was absolutely silent. He looked at the trail of footprints in the snow. They all went off in the same direction. North-west, according to his compass. But as he looked at the map again, he wasn’t sure that was the best route. If he was reading it correctly, the path the others were taking followed a ridge to the vicinity of the cache. In this weather, that ridge would be very exposed. Snow could be drifting in the wind, making the route dangerous and inaccessible. And Max felt he’d had enough of dangerous ridges for the time being.

There was another, more sheltered route that would take Max to the south-west – but it was longer than the obvious path. Maybe even half as long again. Should he risk it? Was he crazy? He knew that Hector would jump at any chance to fail him …

His gut told him it was the right decision. He headed south-west, through fresh snow. Within twenty seconds, the path the others had followed was out of sight. Max was on his own.

It was a white-out. He couldn’t even see the mountain slope up ahead. He checked his compass every ten paces to ensure he was following the correct bearing. After a few minutes, the gradient started to increase. His body temperature rose a little from the extra exertion. He powered through the snow, trying not to worry about his decision. He’d made it now. He had rolled the dice.

Time had little meaning. Max could only focus on the climb. It would have been tough even without the snow. The thick powder on the ground made each step a struggle. His legs hurt and his lungs burned after just twenty minutes. He stopped to look at the map. His route took him up a steep-sided gulley, clearly marked on the map.

He began to panic. He should have stayed with the others. There was safety – and success – in numbers.

It was too late to think like that. The way he saw it, he had only two options: to find the gulley he needed to decide whether to continue on the same trajectory, or change direction and head west.

He consulted his compass and headed west.

The higher he climbed, the deeper the snow got. The blizzard showed no sign of abating. Max stopped regularly to check his direction and to look at his surroundings. But the visibility was so poor that, really, he could be anywhere.

He tried to gauge how high he had climbed. Maybe one hundred and fifty metres? He checked the map again. The cache was at three hundred and sixty-five metres. He wasn’t even halfway there.